How To Train A Jedi
by AlsoAleteia
Summary: Fighting as a General in the Clone Wars, Jedi Knight Hiccup's starfighter is destroyed in a space battle with the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Before the Jedi can retrieve him and his loyal astro droid Toothless from the wreckage however, he is found by a crew of bounty hunters, pirates and smugglers, led by Astrid Hofferson. Who intend to sell him to the highest bidder.


**Today is May the Fourth, also known as Star Wars Day and I am very excited to celebrate this with the release of this new fanfic, titled _How To Train A Jedi_. I have posted a lot of information regarding this AU, along with where it fits into the Star Wars Universe on my Tumblr already; aleteia-ff, where it can be found with the tag #how to train a jedi**

**But, to quickly repeat; this is a Star Wars AU, rather than a Star Wars crossover; the Star Wars characters are there but the main focus of the story will be on HTTYD characters. It takes place during the prequel eras, during the Clone Wars, between Episode II and Episode III and it will be a multi-chapter story! **

**To make sure it is also readable for non-Star Wars fans, I will put characters or very specific terms I have drawn from Star Wars in the author note at the top every time, so you can look them up if you're confused!**

**Credit for the cover art goes to the amazing rannvadraws! (go check her out on Tumblr!)**

* * *

**Star Wars characters featured in this chapter: **

**Ahsoka Tano - Padawan to Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker**

**Barriss Offee - Padawan to Jedi Master Luminara Unduli **

**Some necessary term clarifications:**

**(Battle) cruisers/frigates: really big starships, usually manned by hundreds if not more**

**(Star)fighters/Interceptors: small, one or two-person starships. Vulture droids are about the same size, but they are robots.**

**Clankers: slang for driods**

* * *

**How To Crash A Jedi **

Hiccup was someone considered to be many things. Jedi Knight of the Jedi Order. General of the Grand Army of the Republic to his troops. Master to those ranked lower than him. But to himself, he was a pilot above anything else. And a really good one, if he were to be that humble.

The Jedi Order knew that as well as he did. The Republic knew it as well. Which is exactly why he was the one to lead this particular mission. The assignment was quite simple, really: break through the Separatist blockade surrounding the planet Umbara. After the untimely death of its senator, the planet had chosen to align themselves with their enemy, the Confederacy of Independent Systems – Separatists. And with the planet forming a necessary link in one of their most vital supply routes, Umbara had to be retaken. No matter the costs.

If he'd been told only a few years ago that he'd be fighting for a cause like that, he wouldn't have believed it. His Master would've scoffed at the mere suggestion, and he would've happily joined in. But this was war. And he didn't concern himself with the politics of it too much. That was for the Republic senate, the Supreme Chancellor and the Jedi Order to decide. He was just one gear in the entire system. And he did as he was told. Hoping it'd bring the Clone Wars to an end as quickly as possible.

And right now, doing as he was told was shooting down the last Separatist battle cruisers that were still barring them access to the planet. He was soaring through the vast emptiness of space, just outside of Umbara's atmosphere, the gloomy planet lurking in the distance, circling back around behind the cover of his allies after he'd helped bring the previous cruiser down. Their own Jedi cruisers were lined up opposite of the Separatists', both fleets firing each other, hoping to break through each other's shields or providing cover fire for the smaller crafts that were making their way across the battlefield.

But to him, those things would always fade out of view. All he'd see was the nose of his starfighter, the displays in front of him and most importantly, his target. The Force told him everything else he needed to know. He could _feel_ his black-and-red ship resonate around him, the stalling engines humming slightly, his favourite astromech droid mounted in the socket just in front of his cockpit.

"Ahsoka, how are we looking?" he asked the Jedi Padawans that was offering him support.

"Stan and I are still taking out most of their fighters, Master," the Togruta girl answered, referring to the clone pilot who was leading his clone fighter squadron.

"Good. I'm going to take another shot and taking out their surface turrets. Is Barriss ready with the bombers?"

"Yes, Master," the other Padawan, Barriss Offee, responded.

"Girls, for the last time, just call me Hiccup. I'm not that much older than both of you," he chuckled. Being twenty-one and consistently referred to as something he only associated with people who were quite his senior, like Master Yoda – who had quite an extreme case of seniority going on – just made him feel incredibly old. "Leave the Master-business for Anakin and Master Unduli."

"Anakin isn't very strict with the title either," Ahsoka remarked.

He smirked. "Perhaps that's why we get along quite well." He stabilised his ship, lining himself up with his target. "But I think he'd very much appreciate it if he and Master Kenobi could still land on the planet within the next cycle."

"I'm inclined to agree," Barriss commented, diplomatic as always and effectively putting an end to their playful conversation.

Hiccup smiled, shaking his head as he focused his gaze upon the battlefield once more. He could do this. He had done it many times before. He just needed to find the right opening.

"Alright, Toothless, you know the drill," he told his droid. "Get the engines ready."

He squinted his eyes, looking, following the many tiny ships and fired bolts. It was chaos. But his eyes, his years of experience and the Force gave him everything he needed to know. The focus. The clarity. The vision and precision to grab the opportunity when it presented itself.

And right then, it did.

"Okay buddy, let's go!"

He fired up the engines, launching them forward with an enormous burst of speed. It pushed him back in his seat, knocking the air out of his lungs as the corners of his mouth pulled up in a wide, excited grin. He let out a delighted yelp. And it would only get better from there.

He flew on instinct, swaying and twirling the starfighter around to dodge incoming blasts and stray pieces of debris. Enemy fighters blew past him, registering him too late, because he was quicker, faster, more on point than the enemy droids, blowing some of them to pieces with ease. No matter how often he looped or spun around his axis, he didn't lose his focus. Mastering the beloved lightsaber that was currently strapped to the belt around his waist had always cost him time. But this, navigating a spacecraft through a chaos that was his to command, that's what he was born to do. And he only knew one other pilot that came even close. Not that he would ever admit that to Anakin Skywalker himself.

He flew much faster than most people would deem responsible, but then again, flying with measure wasn't exactly his style. And it was exactly that kind of combination of insane speed, skill and arguably a search for his daily dose of adrenaline that allowed him to close in on his target in a way no one else could. He could see the first of the battle cruiser's surface turrets move as it registered him and he tightened his grip around his controls, destroying the thing before it had properly readjusted its aim.

"Gotcha," he exclaimed as he veered closer to the battle cruiser's armoured hull, watching the grey mass move just barely above him as he stayed close to it, looking for his next target. There were some controlled near-misses as he only barely dodged a few of the antennae and appliances sticking out of the ship. Although he definitely intentionally tipped his left wing so it sliced through a minor communications antennae at exactly the right angle. Not that it would disrupt the ship's overall system too much. At best, the droids aboard, who had no libido to begin with, could no longer watch HoloPorn. But he loved to take the opportunity to pull off precise moves like that when it presented itself.

He soared along the battle cruiser's outer defences, moving in and out of the turrets' firing range and taking them down one by one. He knew it wouldn't be long before the Separatists would send out their own fighters after him; there was only so much time he would have the field to himself. But he had made the most of it, getting the turrets that were placed in the most secluded positions down first. The rest would be easy.

And as if right on cue, the first group of vulture droids blew right past him, making a U-turn as they laid eyes on their target.

"I've got clankers after me," he called out. He did a quick count. "About four vulture droids, at most."

"We've got about ten of them on our squadron as well, General," Stan replied back.

He frowned. That wasn't what he'd wanted to hear. Keeping vulture droids at bay was easy enough when flying with enough cover around. Without it, however, the flying pieces of junk could tear through clone fighters with ease.

"Keep them distracted, Stan," he ordered. "I'll clear things here and come back around to give you back-up. Just focus on keeping the way clear for the bombers to come in. I shouldn't take much longer."

"Yes, General."

Strengthening his grip on his fighter, he looped around the side of the battle cruiser, taking some tighter corners, hoping it would mess up the droids' programming. He spotted one of them indeed smashing against the battle cruiser's exterior, leaving a lovely combination of sparks in its wake.

He continued to snake his way around the vessel, blowing up its turrets while the vulture droids closed in on him, putting him in a tricky position. The last set of turrets were mounted on the cruiser's large top, forcing him to cross quite a sizeable portion of open space. And as good as he was, even he couldn't dodge incoming fire from both in front and behind him.

"Alright Toothless, try to pull as much from the engines as you can," he told his astromech, listening to the slight change in pitch of the engines as his companion instantly responded. Until they were humming just right.

Then, he pulled back on the controls. His body flung forward as his fighter slowed down almost immediately. Checking and sensing behind him, he angled the ship just right. Two of the remaining vulture droids flew right past him. And he only barely avoided the third one as it tried to correct its course, slamming into one of its allies as a result.

Hiccup smiled to himself as he pulled the trigger, blowing up the last remaining ship. Content, he clicked his tongue as he told Toothless to divert some more power back to the engines, launching him forward once again. In the back of his mind, he could hear his former Master scold him for pulling off a move like this. But he'd succeeded. So he didn't see the problem.

Making his way towards the top of the battle cruiser, he agilely danced between the few shots the remaining turrets managed to throw his way, before he finally got to fire himself. And hit his targets right where he wanted to. Leaving the battle cruiser defenceless and open to destruction.

He veered upwards, distancing himself from the battlefield as he called upon the bomber squadron. "Alright Barriss, bring in the bombers. Ship's defences should be down."

"Yes, Master."

He levelled out his fighter, trying to scan the chaos below him. "Stan, Ahsoka, an update on the enemy fighters?"

"Got a couple still on my tail," Ahsoka informed him. "But I don't think they could make it to the bombers in time."

He nodded to himself. They were no stranger to Separatist commanders who sent their droids after Jedi Interceptors specifically, which was questionable at best. Sure, Jedi had a tendency to be extremely effective. But also incredibly hard to catch. Getting a kill on a Jedi was more of a claim to fame than a legit battle-tactic.

"I'm afraid we've only gotten more, General," Stan informed him. "I don't know how much longer we'll be able to hold them off."

"How many fighters did you lose?" He was always afraid to hear the answer.

"Six, sir."

He didn't need to know who they were. He'd personally picked each and every clone pilot under his command. And all of them were talented and good at their job. Or had been. "On my way."

Twirling his fighter around, he dove back towards the rest of his fighter squadron. It didn't take him long to find them amidst the chaos. It only took him a moment to confirm that, indeed, things weren't going too well. He'd been away too long. They were outnumbered and worst of all, in the intended trajectory of Barriss' bomber squad.

Decisively, he destroyed the two vulture droids that were trailing behind. Just then, the droids themselves destroyed their seventh target, making him lose another member of his trusted crew. But the enemy ships didn't relent, still chasing after his troops. And they needed to get back into the cover of their own cruisers as soon as possible if they were to get out of this. Alive, with any luck.

He shot one more vulture droid down as it turned just slightly too slowly. And that did the trick as finally, a few of the droids started to turn on him. Which was exactly what he needed to give his troops the opportunity to escape.

Making a U-turn himself, he checked whether the enemy fighters actually followed him. Once he had the confirmation that they were on his tail – making him outnumbered fifteen to one – he opened up his comms channel. But Stan spoke up before he had a chance to.

"Turning around to provide you with cover, General."

"Fall back to the main cruisers," he countered.

"All of us?" He could hear the confusion in the clone's voice.

"Yes, all of you," he ordered as he only barely dodged one blast coming his way.

"But sir, then we won't be able to back you up."

"Which is my intention. You won't survive out there, nor will the bombers if I don't manage to drag these clankers away from you," he told him resolutely, the enemy's fleet coming back into sight. Which he was heading straight for.

"General, that's a suicide mission," Stan argued.

He rolled his eyes. Stubborn clone. Not surprising, given that they had a tendency to pick up the character traits of the people who led them. "You know me, Stan. All I'm doing is getting these pieces of scrap metal back to where they came from."

"We are meant to be disposable, sir," Stan responded, seemingly unconvinced.

"Not to me." How some Jedi could look at the clones as units rather than what they actually were, was beyond him. Genetically engineered and with accelerated growth or not, they were people. Soldiers. Just like him.

"General –"

"Stan, fall back and cover the bombers," he insisted. "That's an order."

There was a very brief silence on the other side of the comms system. "Alright, General. Falling back."

Looking behind him, he could see his troops retreat into the relative safety of their cruisers' range. Leaving him alone, with about fifteen – no, make that fourteen, given that he just made a sharp turn around a piece of debris that one of the pursuing droids couldn't quite copy – enemy fighters on his tail. He had been in less-than-comfortable situations before. But even he had to admit that things were currently looking kind of bad for him.

Seeing nowhere else to go but forward, as he'd lead the droids back to the Republic's own vulnerable targets otherwise, he flew straight back into enemy territory. Trying not to get too close to their cruisers – they could blast him if he didn't pay enough attention – he veered into the debris field that the battle had left in its wake. It was the area that asked the most of the droids' piloting skills. And his own. But he was confident he could beat them – just not for how long.

"Alright, buddy, it's going to get tough," he told Toothless as he yanked on the controls, only just dodging a nasty barrage of incoming fire. "Do whatever you can to improve our manoeuvrability. Keep the speed up as much as you can." The droid beeped in response, its tones sounding slightly concerned. "Let's show them once again why we're the best at this."

And so their dance began; one lone Jedi Knight and his trusted droid versus a continuously dwindling amount of vulture droids. He didn't really know how to dance, but he imagined it would look something like this.

He led them through the debris field, dodging loose pieces of junk and navigating through the larger ships they'd destroyed earlier. Occasionally, one of the droids missed a vital turn. In other moments, he managed to find a way to loop around and catch the stragglers at the end of the formation.

But overall, they kept closing in on him and he couldn't go anywhere else than deeper into enemy territory, hoping the droids were too occupied with trying to take him down to notice what he was trying to pull off.

His heart jumped when he only narrowly dodged the exploding wreckage of a droid he'd just blown up himself. Seeing no other option, he pulled all power from the engines, making the fighter turn _just_ sharply enough. His fighter stuttered as he brought them back to life, Toothless' alarmed beeps telling him what he already knew; his equipment wasn't exactly enjoying the prolonged period of demanding activity he was putting it through.

The amount of vulture droids chasing him reduced to seven, he continued to fly, using all of his most important senses to do so; sound, sight and whatever the Force told him. He used them in combination, instinctively rather than consciously, but overall he couldn't shake the fact that he was starting to get a very bad feeling about it all. But he had saved his troops. And surely, he'd find a way out of… whatever this was.

"Hiccup," he heard through his comms as he twirled around his axis. "Master Hiccup, can you hear me?"

"What is it, Ahsoka?" he answered, trying to control his breathing as well as he could. She didn't need to hear he was actually panting.

"The bombers have reached their target. The cruiser's down. You can come back around," the Padawan informed him.

He bit his lower lip as he narrowly soared through the carcass of one of the battle cruisers they'd destroyed earlier. "Don't think that's going to happen anytime soon."

"Hiccup –"

"Ahsoka, you and Barriss need to sign in the others and escort the gunships down to the planet surface."

"But –"

He inhaled sharply as he put himself through another near-miss. "Don't be stupid. I will find my way back. Whatever ships they still have should retreat or move to the planet itself soon anyhow. That'll be my window."

"I'm sorry," was all Ahsoka responded with.

"Just make sure you retake that damn planet," was the last thing he told her.

"Yes, Master."

Trying to think to the extent that he could while not losing an ounce of fatal focus he needed to keep flying, he considered his options. He could try to make it back to their own cruisers, but with the amount of distance he had to cross and the seven – no, six – droids still on his tail, he had no idea if he could even make it there. The alternative was to navigate through the debris field, to the other side, into open space. Which was closer, but if the droids followed him all the way there, they could fire straight at him once he made it out.

One way or another, he had to take his pursuers down. And he shouldn't wait much longer. He had to pull off something crazy. And arguably, quite stupid.

Settling into his seat more confidently, he flipped a few switches. The engines protested loudly as he disabled some of the safety measures on the starfighter. He needed everything his ship could give him. Even if that meant overloading its systems. He'd done it successfully before, in a training drill. Surely, he could do it again.

"Okay, Toothless, give me everything we've got!" he yelled at the tiny droid.

It was hard not to feel excited when the fighter shot forward, revitalized with the extra amount of energy its engines now had access to. It meant some of his targeting systems no longer functioned properly, but he didn't need those to begin with. He was a good shot. And he had the Force to guide him. The fighter's targeting equipment just allowed him to lay back a little more. Which he could no longer allow himself to do.

He proceeded to use the debris field as cover, looping and twirling around the larger parts to throw the droids off-course. The key to outmanoeuvring them was to be unpredictable and to show up in places where the clankers' systems didn't expect him to. Which meant pulling off moves that most pilots wouldn't even dare to in the first place.

Continuing whatever crazy, out-of-sync dance it was he was doing with the droids, he slowly started to take them out, one by one. His fighter sputtered with every too-sudden move he pulled off. Piloting a fighter was usually an art, something that required a degree of fluency and sensitivity. But he was currently absolutely abusing the poor thing.

As time passed on, a certain degree of exhaustion and strain on both the fighter and his senses started to kick in. But somehow, he managed to get the number of pursuers down to two.

_Just a little while more_. He was almost out of the debris field. And after he'd gotten rid of his pursuers, he could fly out of there, with his body still intact – or well, as intact as it had still been at the start of the battle.

But that one moment of inner monologue and distraction had made him miss something. And he only realized it when he blew up what he thought was the last vulture droid.

He'd lost one. And it appeared right in front of him at that very moment, its target locked.

Given the minimal distance between his enemy and him, there was no way he could still dodge whatever it shot at him. He was going down. But he could take his enemy down with him.

He yanked the controls towards himself, sending him straight at the droid. His left wing slammed right into it, his whole body thrown forward as it ripped off.

It sent both him and the vulture droid spinning, his wing lodged into the droid's controls systems. He only just saw how it crashed into a piece of stray debris. Desperate, he tried to correct his course as his fighter continued the twirl uncontrollably.

But the controls were unresponsive. No matter how hard he pulled or twisted, there was nothing he could do.

The last thing he saw was another piece of space junk as the nose of his fighter slammed into the particular large slab of stray metal. It threw him forward with enormous force, his head painfully hitting the front of his cockpit. And then everything turned black.

* * *

"Just don't go too fast. We don't want to be noticed by any sensors. Make it look like we're just floating debris as well."

Nervously, Astrid Hofferson tapped her fingers on the top of the pilot's chair as she peered into the space in front of them. It was filled with litter, some parts of it more useful than other. Mostly pieces of debris, junk, parts of spaceships that were neither useful or valuable. Or not valuable enough.

"Calm down, Astrid, this is not the first time I'm doing this, remember," Snotlout shot back from the pilot's seat in front of her, his gaze focused on the field in front of them as they slowly navigated through it.

"We just really need something good today," she murmured, trying to shake off her uneasiness. As confident as she was in her abilities and those of her crew, going into the debris field of a space battle after it had only just happened remained risky.

"I'm sure we'll find something," Snotlout tried to reassure her, but she could see how he was holding the controls just a little too tightly, the letters covering the heart-shaped tattoo on his bare biceps that spelled out _Me, My Ship, I_ scrunching as a result.

Before she could shoot back that she wasn't very reassured, she heard the sound of the door to the cockpit open behind her. "How are we looking, Az?"

"Don't know," she told Heather. The Togruta woman frowned, sitting down in the seat next to her. She tucked her sniper between her legs – she never went anywhere without the thing – and leant forward, her black-and-white lekku, which she kept tied in some sort of braid for convenience, falling over her left shoulder as she leant forward, her green eyes joining them in peering into the darkness above the planet Umbara.

"Do you think we'll be noticed?" Astrid asked.

Heather shook her head. "No, I highly doubt it. The Republic's clean-up crew shouldn't come in for a while longer, nor should any other scavengers. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't hurry and get out of here as soon as we can."

She nodded, silence surrounding the three of them as they continued their trek.

"Wait, I think I see something!" Snotlout suddenly shouted.

"What is it?" Heather asked, her voice on high-alert while she only moved slightly in her seat.

"I'd recognize a beauty like that anywhere," their pilot continued, his eyes focusing on something in the distance. "That's a Jedi Starfighter."

Astrid almost jumped to the front of the cockpit. "Where!?"

Snotlout pointed into the space in front of them and when she followed his finger, she finally saw it too. A black fighter with red accents, badly damaged and floating around aimlessly. Its left wing had been ripped off and its nose looked almost split in two, but the cockpit and a lot of other parts remained intact.

Given how rare these fighters were, this was exactly the kind of find they needed.

"Bring us in closer," she told Snotlout before sprinting out of the cockpit, through their main corridors to alert Fishlegs and the twins they'd found something.

Together, they made their way towards the cargo hold, where they paused to put on their space suits. As usual, Tuffnut struggled to fit his entangled lekku into the helmet – why the Twi'lek guy didn't just untie his green, spotted appendages instead of wearing them as a beard was beyond her, but at least Ruffnut and Fishlegs knew the drill by now.

Impatient, she tapped her foot on the floor of their ship as she waited for the go-ahead from Snotlout. "Are we there yet?" she asked the communications device incorporated in her helmet. They didn't have time to lose.

"Closing in on it now. Are you ready?" Snotlout asked.

She shot a look at the twins before responding. "Yes. Open the door."

Right after she issued the command, the large door to their ship's cargo hold opened, its flap coming down and allowing them to walk – or float, rather – out. The sudden shock of weightlessness and the sheer cold of space hit her instantly; but she was used to it by now, their space suits giving them protection and long lines keeping them attached to the ship.

Checking whether her vibro-ax was securely strapped to her back, she made her way out, the Jedi fighter not too far away from them. Wading through space, she eventually managed to grab a hold of its large black-and-red right wing, allowing her to control her movement better.

The first thing she saw when she investigated the fighter was how _different _it was. Not that she had seen many of them before, but all of those had been pretty standard. This one however was clearly painted by whoever owned the thing, its remaining wing embellished with a myriad of patterns and figures. An artistic pilot. How cute.

Something else caught her eye when her gaze wandered, and she instantly signalled to Fishlegs. Mounted in the socket of the spaceship, was a black-and-green astro droid. It looked like most other droids she'd seen in the R2-series, but the interesting thing about his particular one was that it seemed to be intact. And still functioning, she realized as its upper part turned, its single eye settling on her.

"Disable it as quickly as you can," she told Fishlegs as he reached her, pointing at the droid. She could see his eyes go wide, his long, blonde moustache moving up in surprise along with the rest of his face. "Don't need it causing trouble."

Providing Fishlegs with the support he needed to get to the droid, she crawled along the fighters surface to investigate the cockpit. The puzzling thing about it was that it was still closed. And as soon as she reached it, her eyes peering into the small space, she could see why.

Behind the glass, she found a young man. He was lying slumped in his seat, either dead or unconscious, his eyes closed as his head hung awkwardly to the side. His pale face was that of a man who'd gone through puberty not too long ago, his frame slender, his nose slightly oversized; she figured he was about the same age she was. Although the way in which his mouth hung open, revealing the gap between his front teeth, made him look slightly younger in this moment.

A small stream of blood crept out from beneath his messy auburn hair, trailing down along his defined cheekbones, which were dusted with freckles. The droplets eventually reached his jaw, where she found thin stubble covering a small scar on his chin, before those same droplets trickled down onto the white robes he was wearing.

If the way he was dressed didn't already tell her enough – a classic structure of layered robes of various shades of white and light brown – the item strapped to right side of his belt most certainly did. A lightsaber. Which meant that the arguably quite handsome stranger was a Jedi.

She watched him for a while, a smile spreading across her face as she noticed how his chest was heaving only so slightly. He was alive.

"Astrid, I've got the droid, what are you –" Fishlegs started, coming up next to her before his breath audibly caught in his throat. "Oh my. Is that?"

She nodded. "Yup."

"A Jedi…" he murmured.

"I'm sorry, Fishface, what did you just say?" Snotlout butted in across their comms.

"There's a Jedi still in the fighter, Snot. And he's alive," she clarified, her smile only widening.

"WHAT!? Are you serious!?" was the last coherent thing Snotlout managed to yell before he let out a loud scream of excitement.

Trying to shut him out, she beckoned Ruffnut and Tuffnut over, who were already making their way over, eyeing the cockpit curiously. "Get whatever explosives you can find. Fish, let's get the droid first, before we try to get him out alive."

"What?" Tuffnut asked. "You want us to _blow up _the ship?"

"Yes. We want whoever will undoubtedly come for him to think he's dead." She took a look at the unconscious stranger, who had just made her happier than he could possibly imagine. "Mister Jedi here is all the merchandise we need."

"We are going to be so fucking _RICH!_"

And for once, she couldn't tell Snotlout he was wrong. Because he was absolutely, gloriously right.


End file.
